


Christmas Cheer

by FeuillesMortes



Series: In Fair Verona [1]
Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Holiday Fic Exchange, Sharing a Room, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 20:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17107382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeuillesMortes/pseuds/FeuillesMortes
Summary: Benvolio, who is anything but excited for the holidays, is stuck with the only person he knows who hates Christmas as much as he does: Rosaline Capulet.





	Christmas Cheer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queenbessofyork](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenbessofyork/gifts).



> For the Prompt Challenge: A Rosvolio Christmas Miracle

Christmas was just the worst time of the year. All those bright, artificial lights. Plastic decorations hanging from ungodly plastic trees. Crowded shops. Forced cheerfulness and loud carol singing on the streets. It was the most stressful period at work, and no matter how many times Benvolio tried to infect himself with the so-called _C_ _hristmas cheer_ , he just couldn’t swallow down that cheap, consumer-ready happiness. He wished he were a child again, only so he could feel festive once more.

Of course his cousin Romeo loved the holiday — that is, him and his new girlfriend Juliet (A Capulet! Of all people he could choose from, he had to pick a Capulet!). Christmas was a sacred date for those two air-headed love doves, and Benvolio felt almost guilty for souring the mood whenever they dragged him along to one of their dates. He clearly wasn’t over his break-up with Stella yet, and were she to spend the holidays with him, then perhaps things would be a whole lot different.

One thing was certain, though: Stella sure would help with the disapproving look his uncle was likely to give him that Christmas. Benvolio had somehow acquired the reputation of being a ladies man, that is, he was all fun but no commitment. He would — again — bring no guests over to dinner, an occasion in which his uncle not so subtly boasted about the family’s enterprises over the year. Romeo was an expert in dissociating during said occasions. It was easy for him. He just had to gaze lovingly into the eyes of his girlfriend and blissfully ignore his father’s ramblings. Not Benvolio, not him. Benvolio had to sit in silence and sulk and suffer during the whole course of the dinner.

There was only one person Benvolio knew who hated Christmas as much as him: Juliet’s cousin, Rosaline. It had come as a surprise to him. Actually, everything that Rosaline did came as a surprise to him. Some days before Christmas, the couple had invited them to join their day trip to Padua. Misty, white city in the winter, not too far from Verona. Knowing his cousin, it all stank of a set-up fit for a romcom movie. But Benvolio had gone along with their plan for a different reason entirely: it had been too long since he had visited Padua’s early renaissance cathedrals.

He had no idea why Rosaline had accepted the invite, though. Especially because she made it very clear during their trip, as they crossed Italy’s largest piazza, that she wasn’t looking for anyone to date at the moment. Or ever. Something about considering taking up _holy orders_.

“A nun!” He had exclaimed, almost sputtering in laughter. Just because he wasn’t interested in Rosaline whatsoever it didn’t mean he couldn’t at least have some fun. “Really, Capulet? On this day in the year of our Lord 2018?”

“Don’t you mock my faith, Montague.” Voice strained, eyes squinting mercilessly at him. “You think I didn’t see you all but crying in that little chapel back there?” Spiteful, triumphant smirk. “You’re worse than me when it comes to unconventional interests.”

He tried to let that snide pass. _Tried_. “You know it’s not some common _little_ _chapel_ , right? That Giotto fresco is a landmark in Western art history, not to mention one of the earliest examples of renaissance art! The ultramarine pigment Giotto used had not—”

He heard yawning, and turned in time to see her mocking smile. “Keep talking, Montague. It won’t change the fact that you’re _boring_.”

God, but she was infuriating! Tart as a lemon pie, Rosaline Capulet was a harpy of a woman. So one could only imagine Benvolio’s frustration to get stuck in that city with her. His cousin and his girlfriend had vanished all of a sudden, and twenty minutes later Benvolio received a text saying they had gone ahead and got on a train back to Verona. Rosaline squinted his eyes at him, suspiciously, but they immediately rushed to the station together. Alas, it was to no avail. No trains were circulating anymore. A thick fog had descended on the region, and a snowstorm had started just on the outskirts of the city. For safety reasons, as the Trenitalia agent explained to them, they would have to sit and wait.

So they waited. For _hours_. Neither were in the mood for chatting pleasantries, so they just plopped down to their chairs in silence and tried to pretend the wind somehow blowing through the station was no bother at all. Teeth-chattering? Never heard of it! The animal, mindless urge to just snuggle up to the next person for warmth? Non-existent! Benvolio bounced his legs so much, he thought his muscles would strain. From time to time he stood up and just jumped up and down trying to get rid of the shiver running down his spine. He suspected Rosaline did much the same whenever she went out to do one of her rounds.

It was absurdly late when they finally gave up and decided to rent a room. The problem was, because the holidays were coming up in just a few days, only the city’s most expensive hotel had rooms available for the night. The bigger problem was: between Rosaline and himself, they only had enough money for one room. Rosaline rolled her eyes and muttered a _“oh for fuck’s sake”_ under her breath, but the receptionist was quick enough to add that there was a spare bed they could take up to their room. Would they like to use it?

“YES!” They said in unison, almost shouting over the poor receptionist.

That was one less thing to worry about, at least. He didn’t want to find out whether Rosaline had talons on her feet like a real harpy. The thought amused him immensely, and he wanted to say that aloud only to get a reaction out of the Capulet, but the look of utter exhaustion on her face made him reconsider. It was the time of the year to be charitable, after all.

Both of them frantically starving by then, they went up three floors to the hotel’s restaurant to spend their last cents on a meagre meal that wasn’t worth its price. But then they were the only two glum faces about the room. There were families happily lodging together, a long string of uncles and siblings and cousins. There were couples eating from the same plate, holding hands across the table. They were new parents and their babies laughing merrily along the holiday music playing over the speakers. Bing Crosby, Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra.

“God, I hate Christmas.” Rosaline said to no one in particular. She was chewing her pasta numbly, as if the TV was on and she was watching the news.

“Yeah, me too.”

“It’s just… when you’re a kid it’s all so magical. You get presents, Santa comes down your chimney. Then you grow up and you want to have that magic again, only you never do.”

Benvolio let out a bittersweet smile, much against himself. “My mother used to used to make the most delicious cookies for Christmas.”

Rosaline turned to him, for once a sympathetic look on her face. “She doesn’t bake anymore?”

“She died.”

A flat delivery of a wound.

“Oh.”

Benvolio was used to that gasp of pity. He had heard it countless times before. He turned to his plate to pick at his food, like a child would when confronted with a difficult topic. “Both my parents did, actually.”

“Well, mine did too.”

Benvolio turned to look back at Rosaline, surprised, but she wasn’t looking at him anymore. She was resolutely staring ahead. Staring, staring at some point behind his shoulder. It could only make sense. The only Rosaline he had ever known was tough as nails. If she had let any weakness show through that one time, it had all gone down in the flicker of a moment. Benvolio wasn’t quick enough to catch it.

It is strange how little things one doesn’t notice can come over you all at once. Just then, looking at her face, Benvolio noticed what a perfect skin Rosaline had. It had the sleek, polished quality of a dark marble piece. Just now, the light of the room fell on her cheekbones at all the right angles, a chiaroscuro effect worth of a baroque work of art. A sense of shape and volume, an irresistible _tangibility: Touch me, and see if I’m real. Touch me and see if I’m more than just an illusion made of light._

If he hadn’t been so openly, _dangerously_ staring at her, he would not have seen how suddenly all colour drained from her face. Perhaps that was the biggest surprise to him: Benvolio had thought he would never see Rosaline lose her cool. He was confused for a moment till he turned his head around to recognise who her eyes had spotted: none other than her ex-boyfriend, Escalus. Verona’s most eligible bachelor. Maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to understand why Rosaline was considering joining a convent. Benvolio himself had tasted the bitter fruits of love.

She clutched his hand across the table in desperation as Escalus walked over to them, with something akin to hard resolve set in her eyes. “Quick now, Montague. Kiss me.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“I said kiss me!” She hissed. “Don’t make me say that again.”

Benvolio was amused beyond words. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. “Why, Capulet. That is a most unusual request coming from you.”

“For God’s sake, I could kill you now, Montague!” Now _that_ sounded like Rosaline. “Help me with this one tiny thing.”

“And how are you going to repay me?”

“I’ll do anything.” She vowed, words fleeing her mouth quickly.

“ _Anything_?”

“Just—” She didn’t have time to retort. Escalus and his prince charming smile were almost upon them. Instead, she grabbed Benvolio’s neck across the table and pulled him towards her to plant a hard kiss on his lips, his whole body shifting and gravitating towards her and above the candles romantically (and ironically) placed beside their glasses of wine.

What had he been expecting after all — Benvolio thought to himself wryly, pondering as their mouths found a rhythm of their own, lips moving together — a sweet brushing from candid Rosaline? She held onto him with a solid grasp, with an ardour that, had he not known her plain distaste for him, might have fooled him into thinking she liked him after all. Yet, despite all that he knew, for a moment only Benvolio could pretend there was someone who longed after him, someone who wanted to be with him.

“Oh, Escalus!” Rosaline fake laughed as she pulled back, breaking their kiss. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there. How have you been?”

It was Escalus’ turn to look like he had just sucked on a sour lemon. And if Benvolio could read her correctly, Rosaline was enjoying this. Oh, yes, she definitely was. A lot. Benvolio himself was enjoying it, if only by seeing Escalus thrown off his high horse, his prideful expression vanquished for a minute. Benvolio even felt proud of their team effort of sorts at bringing him down. He didn’t know what Escalus had done to make Rosaline never want to have another person in her life again, but he hated the guy for it.

It was only after Escalus had left that they resumed their usual posture around each other: cool indifference.

“Don’t get too used to it, Montague.” Rosaline tried to dissipate the awkwardness with a sarcastic remark. “It won’t happen again.”

Benvolio scoffed. “I wasn’t counting on it, thank you very much.” He tilted his head, trying on a sarcastic smile himself. “But now you owe me one, remember?”

“What do you mean? If you think I will do any sordid activity with you, you may as well—”

“You’ll spend Christmas with me at my uncle’s.”

“What?” She croaked out, incredulously.

He shrugged. “You’ll pretend to be my girlfriend, simple as that.”

“No way! Your uncle is the most racist person I know!”

“He’s not _racist_.” Benvolio replied lamely. Or was he? “Look at Romeo, he’s got a biracial kid—”

Rosaline rolled her eyes. “Just because you sleep with a person of colour enough times to make a baby, that doesn’t make you any less racist.”

“Oh.” Benvolio felt terribly embarrassed all of a sudden. “I see it.” He mumbled awkwardly, picking at his food again. “My bad.”

Rosaline crossed her arms across her chest and sighed, looking away. “My aunt is pretty racist too, I suppose. And… I was going to spend Christmas Eve at her house.” She shifted in her seat, but turned to shoot a resolute look his way. “I suppose I can just go to your uncle’s and get my debt paid. Get this over with." She straightened up a little in her chair. "I’m not scared of him.”

Benvolio grinned, perking up. Rosaline was so brave. He couldn’t think of anyone else who would be willing to face the same adversities as she was.

“But only—” She added, before Benvolio could say anything else. “—because I owe you one.”

He extended a hand for her to shake. “Deal.”

“Deal.”

Christmas music swelled over them. Soft piano keys, kicking of drums, smooth bass sounds. _O Christmas tree, o Christmas tree, how lovely are thy branches._ Benvolio smiled to himself again. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the budding feeling that maybe for the first time in years, his holidays would be _different_. Interesting, at the very least. Excitement sprung from his chest to his fingertips as they drummed the table, his voice humming along the song. Perhaps sharing a room with Rosaline wouldn’t be so unpleasant after all. 


End file.
